


re[F]racted

by wordbending



Series: Fanbruary 2019 [1]
Category: NieR: Automata (Video Game), Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Crossover, Fanbruary 2019, Gen, Narrator Chara (Undertale)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-01
Updated: 2019-02-01
Packaged: 2019-10-20 14:34:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17624222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordbending/pseuds/wordbending
Summary: Your name is 4S, although you prefer to be called "Frisk." You're a Scanner, and like so many Scanners, naturally curious... but unlike so many of your kind, you don't hate machines. In fact, you only seek peace with them.But can pacifism exist in a world so violent and cruel? What is the meaning of your existence when so many seem to want you to not exist at all? And what are these strange dreams you're having, of another world, of a small child who is so like you and yet so different...?





	re[F]racted

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AMX004_Qubeley](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AMX004_Qubeley/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Ghost in the Machine](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14042868) by [AMX004_Qubeley](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AMX004_Qubeley/pseuds/AMX004_Qubeley). 



> This is a fanfic of AMX004_Qubeley's Nier [Ghost in the Machine](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14042868), but it's standalone. No events of the two fics cross over, so reading that is not required to understand this (although you should read it anyway, because it's a good fic!)

“7B, this is your assigned Scanner unit, 4S,” says the Commander, the familiar, rather taciturn woman in white who, apparently, many androids either want to be or want to be with. You, on the other hand, don’t have much interest in either.

In front of you, a tall, wan, pale woman, wearing the black blindfold that serves as the visor all YoRHa soldiers and operatives wear, looks you up and down appraisingly. There’s a sneer on her face as you can feel her judging you, and you try not to shift uncomfortably.

You’re not the type to judge people too harshly yourself, but you already have a bad feeling about her, somewhere in what passes for your gut. You hope you can become friends. You’ve heard of Type-Bs that worked with Scanner units (on the very rare occasions that occurred) becoming close together, forming inseparable bonds - you can only hope she does the same with you.

“This runt?” says 7B, nearly dashing your hopes instantly. “Are you sure about this, Commander?”

“Are you questioning your orders?” says the Commander. “I know this is an unusual arrangement, but we’ve decided that 4S being assigned to you has the best chance of keeping you both safe… and on-task.”

“Look at him, Commander!” says 7B, waving her arms at you for emphasis. “He’s so… _short!”_

“Actually, I prefer ‘they,’” you say, and both the Commander and 7B look at you.

“What?” says 7B.

“4S, we’ve discussed this,” says the Commander curtly. “It is against protocol to be assigned gender pronouns in that manner. Please refer to yourself as ‘he’ or ‘him.’”

You want to say “Isn’t that still assigning me a gender?” but you refrain.

“Whatever,” says 7B. “As long as I get to kill machines, I don’t care.”

You brighten. Her saying she “doesn’t care” might just be referring to being assigned to you, but if she’s referring to your chosen pronouns… well, that’s progress, isn’t it?

“That is all,” says the Commander, raising her hand over her chest. “Glory to mankind.”

7B salutes the Commander back, raising her hand over her chest. “Yeah, glory to mankind. We’ll be going then. Later, Commander.”

You salute the Commander as well. “Glory to mankind.”

As 7B leaves, you follow behind her. She walks _fast,_ as if she’s hoping she can abandon you by just moving quickly enough. You nearly stumble trying to keep up with her on your shorter legs.

“7B!” you say quickly when she’s in earshot. “7B! I wanted to ask for something.”

“Call yourself whatever you want,” says 7B, continuing to walk at a brisk pace.

“Oh, then, can you… call me ‘Frisk’?” you say, and she stops.

“Frisk?” she says, staring over her shoulder at you.

“It’s a word that sounds like 4S,” you say, smiling. “But with a K. Cute, right?”

7B pinches the bridge of her nose, muttering, “Why did the Commander assign me to you?” before turning to face you and saying, in a much louder, firmer voice, “No. I’m not calling you any cutesy nicknames. You’re 4S. Got it?”

You hear some passing operator units, who must have overheard the conversation, giggling.

You frown, but with an embarrassed sigh, you say, “Yes, ma’am.”

“Good,” says 7B, turning on her heel. “Let’s go.”

* * *

“4S! 4S, where are you?!”

You ignore the voice calling for you as you continue to stare at two machines - stubbies, as they’re commonly called. These stubbies are unusual in appearance: they both have markings on their faces, black around their eyes and bright pink on their cheeks. They’ve both also attached pink bows to their heads, and they’re holding their tiny, inarticulate hands together as they walk through the ruined city.

“HEE HEE HEE,” giggle the machines.

Suddenly, without warning, your little yellow Pod speaks in a masculine voice. It says, “Receiving message from Operator. Displaying transmission…”

It displays a heads-up display of your operator, 19O. Her familiar malfunctioning voice stutters, “F-F-F-Frisk! That _b-b-bitch_ 8O keeps… keeps b-b-badgering me! W-where are you?!”

At the stuttering voice of your Operator, the two machines in front of you scatter, screaming “YOU’LL NEVER STOP TRUE LOVE!” and “TRUE LOVE CANNOT BE VANQUISHED!” as they run around in circles with their arms in the air.

“Can’t she just track my black box signal?” you say, rather annoyed. You were enjoying watching the machines…

“Y-y-yeah, but it’s j-j-jammed,” says 19O. “For s-s-some reason.”

“Oh, right,” you say. “I did that. It’s risky, but I figured out if I hack my black box, I can prevent anyone from tracking my location. Nifty, huh?”

“H-h-ha!” laughs 190. “F-Frisk, you little f-f-fucking devil. I s-should have k-k-known. But, seriously, y-y-you have to get back to 7B. O-on the d-d-double!”

“Found you,” says 7B’s voice. You yelp, whipping around, and above you is 7B with a sword poised at your neck. Your operator goes “Y-y-yikes!” and disconnects.

“Sevens!” you say, beaming at her.

“Don’t call me that.”

“I mean, 7B,” you say, still beaming. “Sorry, I was…”

“Watching the machines again?” says 7B.

You scratch the back of your head. “Yeah.”

“Machines aren’t playthings,” scoffs 7B. “They exist to be destroyed. Here, I’ll show you.”

Before you can protest, her black Pod opens up and fires a beam of energy at one of the machines, so bright it lights 7B in chiaroscuro, so powerful it blows the ends of her blindfold in the shockwave. The beam instantly blows through the machine, sending a crater through its head, and its companion gets down on its stubbly knees and lets out a loud, electronic wail.

“Now, 4S… kill the other one,” says 7B, without a trace of sympathy.

You nod glumly, targeting it with your pod.

The machine continues wailing, managing to sound sorrowful even with its low-pitched, modulated voice.

And you can’t do it. You can’t possibly kill it.

“I knew it,” sneers 7B. “You have some kind of twisted sympathy for these _things,_ don’t you? Some kind of... strange feeling for them? No wonder you’ve never killed _even one._ ”

Her pod opens again, firing another beam. It instantly decapitates the other machine, sending its charred head rolling along the ground. Both machines explode into fireballs.

“Pathetic,” says 7B. “I should report this to the Commander.”

“P-please don’t,” you mutter.

“You know what?” says 7B. “I think I will.”

“Don’t!” you say, louder. Without thinking about it, you grab at her arm. She stares down at you and her mouth tightens, her brow furrowing above the blindfold. You can almost feel her glare.

“This is insubordination,” she says. “Pod, connect me directly to the Commander.”

“Connecting…” says her Pod in a feminine voice.

A heads-up display appears from her Pod. The Commander’s head appears on it, looking unamused but unsurprised to be called by 7B.

“Commander,” says 7B, “requesting permission to dispatch…”

“4S, I know,” sighs the Commander. “I figured this would happen eventually. Permission granted.”

And she disconnects.

Your black box whirrs like it’s going to explode. You continue gripping her arm, your face growing pale, as she looks down at you and grins.

“You’re a…” you manage to say. “You’re an Executioner…”

“That’s right, ‘Frisk.’ I was assigned to get rid of _you._ ”

You let go of her arm and fall backwards onto the ground, onto your stomach. You try to get to your feet, every part of you screaming at you to run, pathetically flailing at the rocky ground beneath you.

It’s too late, of course. You hear the rushing wind from a sword being swung, and then, for a moment, feel something long and sharp pierce straight through your neck.

* * *

“He… he’s still alive!”

Whose voice is that? A man’s?

“Un-fucking-believable. This asshole got skewered _good._ Right through the throat too.”

Whose voice is _that?_ A woman’s? You try to focus, but your vision is completely blank. Not distorted - _blank._

“We need to take him to the Resistance Camp,” says the first voice. “They’ll know what to do with him.”

“Oh, come on! I can’t have a little fun with him? I’d love to see how he reacts to mackerel...”

A mackerel, you think, blearily. Isn’t that some kind of fish…? You try to remember, but your mind is as blank as your vision.

“Uh…”

“I’m kidding. I wouldn’t do that. Probably.”

* * *

You gasp, your gasp become choking coughs as you suddenly rise up, your hand flying up to clutch at where your black box is. You’re alive. It’s impossible, but you’re alive.

And you can see. It’s bright, so bright, but you can see. You were afraid you’d been blinded somehow.

You reach up, grasping at your throat. And you feel it, beyond a shadow of a doubt - there’s a gaping wound there, where a sword pierced straight through one side of your neck and out the other. If you could see your own neck, you imagine there’d just be a hole there.

You hear footsteps, and see someone approaching you. It’s a woman - no, two women. Both of them have a shock of bright red hair. They both have flowers in their hair, although you can’t recognize what kind.

“Oh, you’re awake! Thank goodness,” says one of them. “Devola thought you’d never wake up…”

The other one, apparently Devola, speaks. “I’m the cynical one, right, Popola?” She grins at her companion, then turns to you, her smile fading only a little. “Anyway, this is where I’d normally ask for a thank you, but…”

“You probably… shouldn’t speak,” says Popola gently.

You nod. It really doesn’t bother you as much as you would have expected - you weren’t the most talkative person anyway. And it’s a miracle you’re alive. You’d hate to know what damage speaking could do to your throat.

“We’re doing our best to heal your damaged voice processor,” says Popola. “But it may be some time.”

You nod again, to show your understanding.

“Get some rest,” Devola commands. “Doctor’s orders.”

“We’ll take care of you,” says Popola. “Don’t worry about a thing.”

With that, you lay back down on the cot. It’s less comfortable than the beds on the Bunker, but you’re grateful for it - it beats resting forever on the cold, hard ground, your body left to be picked apart by animals.

Devola and Popola hover over you as you close your eyes and fall back into an uneasy slumber.

* * *

You have a strange dream that night. You’re in a cave, but not unlike any cave you’ve ever seen - everything is blue and purple, and you hear the sound of pouring waterfalls nearby. You feel different, and look different too. You swear you’ve become shorter, or everything’s become bigger, and your hands are a dark brown rather than their usual pale color.

In front of you is… a fish, you think, but a strange-looking one. It has hair, and it’s sitting on top of what looks like a worm, or a slug, or some other small creature of that sort. You aren’t familiar with fish, but you’re pretty sure it’s much bigger than any normal fish.

“Shyren is hiding in the corner but somehow encounters you anyway,” says a child’s voice in your head. You don’t know where that came from - it’s certainly not _your_ voice.

In front of you, almost like a hacking simulation, are four options - **FIGHT, ACT, ITEM,** and **MERCY**. An image of a cartoon heart floats in front of you and then floats over to one of the options, like it’s selecting it.

The word “Shyren” appears. You select it. Then you see four more options - Check, Smile, Hum, and Conduct.

You select “Conduct” and begin to hum, a sad-sounding song, familiar to you even though you don’t think you’ve ever heard it before. It’s like… what had humans called it? Déjà vu.

Shyren hums back, repeating the same melody that you did, then begins to sing.

_si re_

_si re_

_si mi_

_si mi_

“You hum a sad song,” says the voice in your head. “Shyren follows your melody.”

Once Shyren finishes singing, you move the heart towards the “MERCY” option. The options “Spare” and “Flee” appear. You select the “Spare” option and Shyren smiles before turning away from you again.

“YOU WON!” says the voice in your head. “You earned 0 XP and 30 Gold.”

* * *

You awaken from the dream, blinking blearily into a sunlit sky.

That has to be the _weirdest_ dream you’ve ever had.

* * *

You spend the next few weeks resting in the cot at what you’ve now come to know as the Resistance Camp, time passing by so slowly it’s more agonizing than the pain in your throat. As you rest, Popola and Devola continue to try and repair the wound - fortunately, it’s the only one of the injuries you’d received from 7B. Or 7E, as she’d likely be more properly known as.

One of the few words you manage to speak is your name - “Frisk” - when Devola and Popola ask what your name is in an attempt to test if their repairs are working. Popola doesn’t react to it - she calls you Frisk without a second thought - but Devola says that’s unusual, for YoRHa units to take another name. After some light chastising from Popola, though, she starts to call you “Frisk” too.

You also ask them where your Pod is. They look at each other, than admit the truth: it was destroyed.

You miss your pod, you think miserably. Without it, you have nobody you can consider a friend - either the pod or 19O, who you can no longer communicate with. Not that communicating with your Operator would be a _good_ idea, in the circumstances.

Talking still hurts, you think. It tears at your throat, makes every artificial muscle in it ache. It’s better than it was before, when every muscle in your throat _screamed_ at you even when you breathed, even when you weren’t speaking, but it’s hardly perfect.

As the weeks pass, though, you grow increasingly restless. You’re tired of lying in this cot, day in and day out. It’s the Scanner in you - you want to explore, to see things, to learn.

So you don’t ask for permission. One day, when Popola and Devola are otherwise occupied talking to two other YoRHa units who’ve come to visit the camp, you get out of your cot, put on your visor, and sneak out. You don’t need your voice processor to explore, after all, and you can still hack if anything dangerous approaches you.

Not that you’d ever actually hacked a machine before… but… for your own survival, you could, right?

When you leave the camp, it almost takes your breath away, the way Earth always has - the sunlit seas of grass, the trees reaching into the sky. There’s a moose eating grass nearby, completely oblivious to you, unafraid of you. In the far distance are machines, little stubbies and huge goliaths, walking (or hopping) around without a care in the world.

You don’t care if they’re the “enemy.” You don’t care if they’re “dangerous.” Almost laughing - or at least, you would, if it didn’t hurt your voice - you run over towards them.

It doesn’t take you long before you reach them. They stare at you quizzically, tilting their round heads. Even the goliath stares at you, bending down on its massive knees to get a closer look.

It’s like the moose, you think, smiling as you pet a stubby on its mechanical head. They have no idea you’re something to be feared.

The stubby makes a electronic hum, almost a purring sound, as it leans into your touch. You grin and think of the dream. This is just like that, isn’t it?

You hum back. It hurts to hum, at first, but you don’t care. You only raise the volume of your humming until, sure enough, all the machines nearby you start to hum too. You modulate your humming, forming a tune, and the machines join you in chorus.

And you begin to sing.

_“A mechanical heart…”_

You cough violently, choking as your throat screams at you to stop. But, ever stubborn, you continue to sing.

_“A-and a button eye_

_You are the apple_

_Of my eye…”_

The machines sing back.

“A MECHANICAL HEART

A-AND A BUTTON EYE

YOU ARE THE APPLE

OF MY EYE…”

You laugh, coughing again. This is good, you think. This is how things should be. If only your superiors were here to see this!

But… you think glumly, you have no superiors. Not anymore. You’re alone. And it’ll only be a matter of time before you get found out, won’t it? Until they send someone to kill you again... and make sure you stay dead.

You’re so busy thinking about that, you don’t notice the red glow in the machines’ eyes, a bright flash, until it’s too late. Suddenly, the goliath stands up, raising its massive arms.

“A MECHANICAL HEART A-AND A BUTTON EYE,” it repeats as it swings its massive arms down towards you. It’s too soon to react, to dodge away - you’re going to be crushed no matter what you do.

Until there’s a noise like a _schhhhhng,_ then the sound of metal cutting through metal, and the goliath’s arms fall off, clattering to the ground. In the cloud of dust that forms, you see a silhouette, moving and dodging rapidly through the crowd of machines, its long hair billowing behind it. You can hear nothing but the sounds of a slicing sword, the cries of machines, until... at last, every machine is cut into ribbons.

“A-APPLE… OF… OF MY EYE,” stutters half the head of a stubby, and the smoke clears to reveal a woman standing in the carnage. She steps on what’s left of the stubby’s head, grinding into it with her high-heeled shoe, and then spits on it for good measure. Its green eyes go dark.

“Damn machines,” she says.

She’s like no YoRHa unit you’ve ever seen. Her hair goes past her waist. Her uniform, or what it must have been, is ripped to shreds, leaving both her legs almost entirely exposed and the rest of her effectively standing in her underwear. She has no visor and no Pod.

“What the _hell_ do you think you were doing, you dumbass?”

You raise your hands defensively, hoping to be spared this woman’s wrath.

“Well? Speak!”

You shake your head, motioning towards your throat. She abruptly grabs you by the chin, lifting it up, and peers at the scar there.

The look she gives you is almost one of pity.

“Somebody really did a number on you, huh? Let me guess… a Type-E?”

She lets go of your chin and you nod.

“Well, don’t think I saved you out of the goodness of my heart or anything,” she says. “I just wanted to kill these goddamn machines. You just happened to be there.”

You nod again, even if that response wasn’t what you were hoping to hear.

“Get back to wherever you came from,” she snaps. “And don’t let me see you again. Or, next time, you won’t be so lucky.”

You nod yet again, and she turns around and runs off, in a direction pointedly away from you.

You don’t move. Instead, you look down at the remains of the machine lifeforms that had just been singing at you. You wonder why they attacked. Is it because they sensed the presence of that strange woman…? Or something else?

But you don’t really care for the reasons. You feel only pity for them. They didn’t deserve to die, even if they were going to kill you. You’ve always believed that, which is why you’ve never once struck a machine. This so-called “war” - this massacre - has to end.

“I’m sorry,” you choke out, your voice hoarse, as you look down over what’s left of the machines. “I’m so sorry.”

* * *

You have another dream when you return to the Resistance Camp that night. It’s… similar to the one before. You feel smaller, and your hands are dark brown again. You’re standing in front of a small… machine? It’s short and stubby, like most machines, but it also looks like what humans used to call a “bathtub.” And, for some reason, there’s a bird inside the tub.

“Woshua shuffles up,” says the voice in your head.

Again, the heart appears in front of you, and again, the four options - **FIGHT, ACT, ITEM,** and **MERCY.** Without a second thought, you move the heart to the Act option, select “Woshua,” and then “Check.”

The voice in your head says, “WOSHUA - ATK 18 DEF 5. This humble germophobe seeks to cleanse the whole world.”

Sounds like people you know, you think. Is that what machines think about too?

But you don’t have time to think about that, because Woshua says “Wosh u face,” the bird says “tweet,” and you’re suddenly dodging attacks being thrown at your heart, little raindrop-shaped projectiles. It’s exactly like a hacking simulation, you think, almost excited - you move the little heart to dodge out of the way of the bullets, being careful not to fire back. If you can even can - you’re not sure.

“Woshua wonders if tears are sanitary,” says the voice in your head.

You select “ACT” again, and this time select “Clean.”

You hear a voice speak. It’s an unfamiliar voice that, while childlike, is definitely not the voice you hear in your head. You feel your own mouth move.

It says, “Can you clean me?”

Woshua hops around excitedly, a big smile on its little face.

“You ask Woshua to clean you,” says the voice. “It hops around excitedly.”

“Green means clean,” says Woshua.

But, apparently, its idea of cleaning you is to shoot more projectiles at you. This time, though, you notice that some of the projectiles are green. Trusting Woshua, you move the heart towards the green projectiles, dodging the white ones.

When the heart connects with the green projectiles, you feel strangely… healthier.

And cleaner.

Woshua seems happy, and you’re happy too. You select the “Mercy” option, then “Spare.”

“YOU WON!” says the voice in your head again. “You earned 0 XP and 25 gold.”

And then you wake up.

* * *

You don’t know how long goes by before you have another dream - maybe weeks, maybe months. All you know is that, in the meantime, Devola and Popola are cross with you for your last escape. They keep a close eye on you, preventing you from leaving the Resistance Camp and exploring. Or, at least, leaving _easily._

So you try a different tactic. Now, whenever you converse, you ask them the same question, in your scratchy, hoarse voice: “When can I leave the Resistance Camp?”

“Don’t be dumb,” says Devola, for the hundredth time. “You can’t. You’ll be killed.”

“Now, Popola, be nice to them…” admonishes Popola. “We have to wait until your throat fully heals and the Resistance cleans up the machines around the camp. Once that happens, you’ll be free to go.”

“What happens if…” you say this time, coughing. “What happens if I just walk away?”

“Nothing, I guess,” sighs Popola. “We can’t stop you.”

“It’s not like we’re going to fight you so you can prove you’re strong enough,” says Devola. “We can fight, but we’re not combat units.”

You nod.

The very next day, you leave the Resistance Camp. You head through the city ruins, being careful to avoid packs of roaming machines with their bright red eyes, and keep walking, and walking, and walking.

You don’t actually know what you’re looking for, what your purpose is now. Are you looking for a friendly machine, like the ones you’d met before? It seems improbable that you’ll find any, but if you can… that will prove that machines and humans can live in peace. That’s all you really want: proof.

Eventually, you find yourself having left the city ruins altogether. Instead, you find yourself trudging through sand, mountains of sand piled between overhanging buildings. You recognize it as the desert.

Maybe what you’re looking for is out here, in the middle of nowhere. It’s worth a shot, you think, so you keep walking.

It’s only, when you’re in the middle of the massive desert hours later with no idea where you’ve come from, that you realize this was a _terrible_ idea.

You’re exhausted. You’re exhausted and lost and you’re going to die out here, in the desert, alone. You should have stayed in the resistance camp, where it was safe.

You collapse onto the desert sand, onto your knees.

You idiot.

Only minutes later, you hear a voice.

“Found you.”

You don’t turn around. You know that voice. It’s 7E’s voice.

This is fate, isn’t it, you think, almost laughing. She’s found you and now she’s going to kill you.

“You know how angry my superiors were when they discovered your black box signal? They thought I’d let you live on purpose,” says 7E. “I told them I’d never let a pathetic whelp like you leave my sight alive.”

You don’t respond.

“You ran for a long time,” says 7E. “But, sooner or later, you had to know… I would cut you down.”

You hear the _schhhhng_ of a sword being drawn, and then footsteps in the sand, rapidly running in your direction.

“Die!” says a voice.

It’s not 7E’s.

You turn around. 7E is still there, but so is another woman, with long hair and her clothes torn to ribbons. The other woman is skewering 7E, her sword sticking straight up through her gut. 7E coughs up black fluid, staining the desert sand in oil.

“W-what?” coughs 7E, and then screams as the other woman pulls the sword out of her… and then stabs it through her _again,_ this time deeper than the first. The sword pierces straight through 7E’s chest this time, through where her black box should be.

Again, the other woman takes the sword out, and again, she plunges it into 7E. And again, and again, and again, every stab more savage than the last. 7E falls to her knees, gurgling - the other woman continues stabbing. 7E falls onto the ground, onto her stomach, oil pooling around her - the other woman continues stabbing, grinding her sword into the gaping hole where 7E’s chest used to be.

“Fucking executioners,” spits the other woman when 7E finally dies. Then she turns to you, looking only somewhat calmer. You scoot backwards, raising your hands defensively, just like the last time you met.

“Guess you got lucky,” says the other woman, stabbing her sword into the ground and sighing. “Not many people get to meet me twice and live.”

So she’s not going to kill you, you think? You thought her threat last time meant she was going to kill you if she saw you again. You feel almost strangely grateful to her, and not just for saving your life, but for sparing it.

“I’m taking you back to the Resistance Camp,” she says, in a tone that brooks no room for argument, and starts to walk away, as if expecting no argument. You follow behind her, like a bird following behind its mother, as she leads you out of the desert.

You’re not surprised to find that she encounters machines along the way, and even less surprised to find that she easily slaughters them. She kills them so easily that you wonder why they even try to fight her, or if they’re fighting her at all. You wonder if she kills them for the pleasure of it.

“Why do you kill them?” you ask eventually, in a soft, hoarse voice.

If she’s surprised by you speaking, it’s only indicated by how she stops for a moment before she continues walking as if you hadn’t said anything.

You don’t ask her again.

When she arrives at the Resistance Camp, she’s more explicit in her words this time: “I don’t have time to be babysitting you or any other weird mute YoRHa brats. So, get this straight: next time we run into each other, you’re dead.”

You don’t really believe her. But you nod anyway.

* * *

You have that dream again. The same small brown hands, the same feeling that everything is much bigger than it was before.

This time, though, the air isn’t cool but sweltering hot. You’re standing on rocky ground above a river of molten lava. Why can’t your dreams be normal dreams?

In front of you this time is what looks like a small volcano on legs. It’s smiling brightly and blushing.

“Vulkin strolls in,” says the voice in your head.

You see the four options and select “ACT.” Your choices are “Check,” “Criticize,” “Encourage,” and “Hug.”

Of course, you go for “Hug.”

You reach down and hug the little volcano monster. The monster blushes crimson, but it seems ecstatic, nuzzling your cheek.

“AHH… SO... LOVEY!” shouts Vulkin.

“You hug Vulkin,” says the voice. “It warms your heart…”

Then you realize that hugging a volcano was a mistake. Your sleeve catches fire, and you quickly shake it off.

“And your whole body!” says the voice. “Your defense drops!”

Like with Woshua, a box appears, surrounding the heart - inside it appears a smiling cloud. The smiling cloud shoots lightning bolts at the heart, so (keeping in mind all your hacking simulator practice) you try to dodge the lightning bolts.

But, in spite of your best effort, you fail to dodge one and it hits the heart. Instantly, you feel a pain in your arm - you roll up your sleeve to see what’s happened and find a nasty-looking burn mark on your arm. It’s painful - it looks like it’ll take a while to heal.

But… you aren’t angry at Vulkin. It didn’t mean to hurt you. In fact, it doesn’t seem to realize that what it’s doing hurt you at all. It reminds you so much of the machines - eager, cheerful, living their lives without a care in the world, and hurting people without really knowing why. You feel nothing but sympathy for it.

With that in mind, you select “MERCY,” then “Spare.” Vulkin looks disappointed - it probably wants to play some more, or another hug - but it allows you to walk away from it.

“YOU WON!” says the voice in your head. “You earned 0 XP and 20 gold.”

* * *

Popola and Devola are grateful when you return to the Resistance Camp. You don’t tell them what happened, especially not about being rescued by a mysterious android girl and especially especially not about how you’re being hunted by an Executioner unit.

You decide not to leave the Resistance Camp again. It goes against all your instincts as a Scanner, but you’re safe here, even from 7E. It’s a boring life, but you’d rather not find yourself getting lost again… or killed.

Over the next few weeks, you adjust to life in the Resistance Camp. You get to know Anemone, the Weapons Dealer, and the Supply Trader, and soon enough, you’re running errands for them. Simple things, like delivering items or performing basic repairs, but it gives you something to do. That’s enough for you.

One day, two YoRHa androids show up at the camp. You recognize them from the first time you slipped out of the Resistance Camp - the two androids that were talking to Devola and Popola. You decide to stay close to Devola and Popola, the closest thing you have to friends in this place, in case these strangers have a mission to eliminate you.

You watch as the two androids, not even seeming to notice you, scurry all over the Resistance Camp, talking to anyone and everyone. You can’t overhear what they’re talking about, but everyone seems to know and like them… you even hear laughter from the Weapons Trader.

Eventually, they approach Devola and Popola, and that’s when they notice you. You take a closer look at the two androids. One looks like you, almost exactly, down to the hair - a Scanner model. The other looks like Battle units you’ve seen before, but… it’s strange, having a Scanner with a partner. It reminds you uncomfortably of how you were partnered with 7E, her words ringing through your mind - _“I was assigned to get rid of you.”_

It could just be a coincidence, but… you suddenly feel bad for the Scanner model.

“So, let me guess,” says the Scanner with a grin, interrupting your train of thought. “You have another mission for us, right?”

You point at yourself, to check that they’re speaking to you.

“9S,” says the Battle model in a flat tone, and the Scanner model looks sheepish. She turns to you. “What he means to say is that I don’t believe we’ve met.”

You point upwards at your throat, raising your chin so they can see the scar.

“Oh, Frisk here can’t speak very well,” says Popola.

“Won’t get much out of them, I’m afraid,” says Devola.

You nod.

“Machines, huh?” says 9S sympathetically. “Bastards.”

You shake your head. 9S looks confused.

“Nevermind that,” says the Battle model. “We should go, 9S.”

“Wait!” says Popula. “Before you go…”

“Yeah, we wanted to ask you something,” says Devola. “I think you can spare a minute.”

“I suppose,” says the Battle model.

“We’d be happy to!” says 9S, smiling. He seems to be eager to converse, for some reason. “What’s the problem?”

“It’s about Frisk,” says Popola.

“This little pain-in-the-ass keeps running into trouble,” says Devola.

“Do you think you could escort them somewhere safe?” says Popola.

9S nods, cracking his knuckles. “Of course! Easy as pie. We’ll just take them to Pascal’s village. What do you think, 2B?”

The Battle model speaks, curtly saying “Acceptable.”

“Speaking of pie, 2B, we should try some sometime. I bet we can find a human recipe book around the city ruins...”

“We don’t need to eat,” says 2B. “We have no need for such frivolities.”

“Aww, but it’d be fun!” says 9S. “You should try it sometime.”

“Fun or pie?”

“Pie. I heard it’s the most delicious dessert humans made. Once we defeat the machines, we should definitely try some!“

“Like that T-shirt?”

“Well, we don’t _eat_ T-shirts,” says 9S, shrugging.

“I told you, we don’t eat, period. But…” A small smile crosses her lips for just a moment before her expression becomes blank again. “I’ll hold you to that as well.”

9S grins, pumping a fist into the air. “Alright!” He turns towards you, a boyish smile still on his face. “Anyway, come on, Frisk.”

You follow behind them.

* * *

Just as with the mysterious woman, you’re not surprised at all that 9S and 2B see the machines as obstacles to be destroyed... with extreme prejudice. Without even the machines having to approach you or attack you first, 9S and 2B tear through them. 2B uses her two swords to cut through them, but 9S hacks them, which looks to you like him waving a hand at them and making them explode.

You want them to stop. You want them to leave the machines alone, even if it means 9S and 2B getting hurt. Maybe 7E was right - maybe your mechanical heart does resonate with a “strange feeling” for them.

That’s not the only thing that bothers you either. You can’t help but notice that 2B is far, far stronger than your standard battle unit. She’s not as vicious as 7E, who always seemed to be enjoying herself in battle - 2B’s expression is too blank to tell what she’s thinking. But she’s definitely extremely powerful. You almost think she could take down a Goliath-class machine single-handedly.

You wonder if she _already has._

You can’t help but feel worried about 9S, even though you barely know him. If, heavens forbid, she _is_ an Executioner model, then 9S doesn’t stand a chance. He’ll be killed, and you could prevent it just by speaking.

Or you could cause both your deaths.

But it’s worth the risk - you have to say something.

Partway through your journey, when 2B is dodging around a goliath biped a few meters away and 9S is about to wave his hand and hack into it, you clap 9S on the shoulder. 9S jumps, dodging out of your grip, but then he sees that it’s just you and relaxes.

“Little busy, Frisk,” he says, looking grimmer than his usual smiling self. “What’s up?”

You try to speak and the wound in your throat throbs painfully. Instead, you motion towards 2B with your finger.

“Executioner,” you say, and then cough violently.

“Executioner?” says 9S quietly, and he follows your finger towards 2B, who dodges out of the way of the goliath biped’s spinning arms. “You think 2B’s an Executioner?”

He turns his head to look at you.

“Huh. I don’t see it,” he says. “But, you know, it’s rude to throw around accusations like that.”

His brow furrows. You can almost feel a glare through the visor.

“Don’t you think?”

“A little help, 9S?” calls out 2B as she swings her swords at the goliath biped’s legs.

“Sorry, 2B! On it!” 9S replies, before turning back to the biped and swinging his hand out at it. The biped’s right arm explodes, dazing it and knocking it to its knees, low enough for 2B to jump up and lop its head off.

The rest of it explodes.

You decide not to speak to 9S anymore.

* * *

“Well, here you go,” says 9S, when you finally arrive at Pascal’s village. He still sounds vaguely angry at you, but he’s disguising it a little better around 2B. “You should be safe here. Just don’t wander off.”

You aren’t even listening to him. You just stare at the village incredulously, unable to comprehend what you’re seeing. You weren’t sure what you were expecting, but the last thing you were expecting was a village made entirely of _machines._ Machines that aren’t attacking you or 9S or 2B. Machines that eagerly crowd around you as you approach, saying in their mechanical voices, “Who are you?!” and “What’s your name?!”

You almost want to fall to your knees and cry. It’s everything you’ve ever dreamed of. It’s the proof that machines and androids can live in peace.

Overwhelmed with emotion, you turn around and hug 9S and 2B. Or you try to - 2B dodges out of your grip like the trained combatant she is, but 9S seems taken by surprise as you wrap your arms around his neck and pull him close.

“Thank you,” you say, your voice still hoarse. “Thank you.”

“Er,” says 9S, awkwardly patting your back. “You’re welcome?”

You break away from the hug and wipe at your eyes. You realize you _are_ crying.

“Just be careful. The machines around here… they’re still machines,” says 9S, crossing his arms. “We don’t want you to get hurt.”

“Just stay in the village,” 2B reminds you.

You nod. Why would you go anywhere else now? This is a paradise, an oasis in a searing desert of suffering and pain.

“Good,” says 2B, turning on her heel and walking away.

“Wait up, 2B!” says 9S, following eagerly behind her. He doesn’t even bother to say goodbye to you.

Oh well. You won’t really miss them that much anyway.

* * *

You put on Pascal’s village like a second skin, getting to know all of its inhabitants like the back of your hand.

The child machines, who you play games with, hide and seek and tag (they’re not very good at either). The scientist machine, building all kinds of eccentric inventions that don’t really work. The Little Sister and Big Sister machines, who are ironically the opposite size of what you’d expect, who give you blue and pink bows to put in your hair. Jean-Paul and his many admirers, who weird you out a little, if you’re being honest. There are even androids, android refugees, runaways from the Resistance.

You love them all. The machines are so varied, so fascinating, but all of them share a love of pacifism and a desire to see the war between machines and androids end. You only imagined a place like Pascal’s village could even exist. You thought it was what the future of machines and androids must be like, a future that you’d never see in your lifetime.

Most of all, you love the leader of the machines - Pascal. You love that, like Jean-Paul’s female admirers, he’s asserted his own gender identity, the same way you’ve asserted yours. Although he goes by “he,” like you go by “them,” he has a feminine, motherly voice, and cares for the child machines like his own children.

He’s also a philosopher, you find out. He reads ancient human books and shares them with you - “The Communist Manifesto” by Karl Marx, “Beyond Good and Evil” by Friedrich Nietzsche, “Discourse on the Method” by Rene Descartes, and so on. He also shares with you whatever human literature he can find, long novels and collections of plays, poems, and short fiction. You spend months reading these books, eagerly absorbing their information, their ideas, and write essays Pascal assigns to you.

But, much more than when he treats you like an adult, you love it when he treats you like any other child. Both androids and machines are born into maturity - they don’t have childhoods - but that’s all the more reason you seek to imitate the machines that themselves are imitating human childhoods. Pascal seems happy too, happy to have a student he can teach, but also an android he can treat as a child of his own.

You remember, one day, Pascal is standing outside his little house, reading your essay on _Les Miserables_ by Victor Hugo.

“I have to say, Frisk, I disagree with your perception that Javert is ‘evil,’” he says, and you aren’t bothered by his criticism. He’s a good teacher - gentle and caring, even when he disagrees with you. “Javert is clearly antagonistic to Jean Valjean, but can anyone in Victor Hugo’s work truly be said to be evil? Or is it true that from Victor Hugo’s perspective, all people are victims of their birth and circumstances, even Javert, so it can be said that there is no such thing as true evil at all? Something to consider.”

You do consider this. You’ve always thought there _must_ be evil in the world - YoRHa and the Commander and 7E, sending androids to die in a pointless war, nearly killing you. But perhaps Pascal is right. Perhaps you should extend the same sympathy, the same understanding, to the androids that you extend to the machines.

And there are good androids - Devola and Popola. Anemone. The mysterious long-haired woman that saved you multiple times. 9S and 2B, who kill machines but who brought you to this place. The people who ran away from the Resistance and live in Pascal’s village. At least, they don’t seem like _bad_ androids. Maybe you can come to trust your own kind again.

Someday.

“COME PLAY WITH US, FRISK,” calls out a machine voice. You turn around and a stubby machine is running up to you, hugging their little arms around your legs. You recognize it as one of the child machines, a young girl, who lets out a deep electronic giggle as you pet her head.

You look at Pascal. Pascal doesn’t have a mouth to smile at you, but he nods his head.

“Go play, Frisk,” he says. “You’ve done excellent work today. You deserve a break.”

You smile at Pascal and run off, the child machine giving chase.

“WAIT FOR ME!” says the child machine. “HEE HEE HEE!”

You stick out your tongue at her.

* * *

You have another dream that night.

It’s of a gigantic, helmeted monster, wearing a full suit of armor and carrying a morningstar. A second face is in the chest of its armor. It reminds you of a goliath biped, one of the most dangerous of machines, and as it swings its morningstar at you, you’re reminded of why androids are afraid of those gigantic machines in the first place.

But then the box appears where you dodge attacks, the box that’s become familiar to you by now, and you successfully dodge as the morningstar swings over and over at the heart representing you.

“Knight Knight smashes her morningstar,” says the voice in your head.

When the options appear, you go straight to “ACT,” then “Knight Knight,” then “Sing.” Remembering Shyren, you sing at Knight Knight, the same song you sang before.

Knight Knight wobbles precariously, closing her eyes, and then falls asleep.

You SPARE her.

“YOU WON! You earned 0 XP and 70 gold!” says the voice in your head.

You’re so close now, you find yourself thinking.

...But close to what?

* * *

You don’t know how long that goes on for - writing essays for Pascal, playing with the child machines, getting to know the various inhabitants of the village. It feels like it’ll go on forever, and even considering your natural curiosity as a Scanner, you don’t think you’ll ever get bored of it. You’re learning more from Pascal than you could have ever learned exploring ruins of human cities, or even on the Bunker.

So, of course, it doesn’t last. Nothing good on the Earth ever lasts.

One day, you’re playing Hide and Seek with Little Sister Machine and Big Sister Machine. Little Sister Machine keeps complaining that the game’s not fair because she can’t hide very well in her huge body, but she keeps playing anyway.

You’re hiding behind a tree. You’ve used this hiding place before, but that’s the genius of it - it’s the last place Big Sister Machine will expect. You’re brilliant. Pascal would be proud.

Just when you’re in the middle of praising yourself, you’re suddenly tackled and knocked to the ground. You’re momentarily startled, but it’s just Big Sister Machine, hugging your leg tightly.

Then you realize it’s not Big Sister Machine. It’s someone else.

At that very moment, something snaps shut on your leg like an old human trap. You feel an extremely sharp, violent pain as something tears through your artificial skin and muscle, ripping out a chunk of your leg, and you barely have time to react before you automatically kick the machine off you.

The machine _snarls_ and you see their face for the first time. The armor plating around their head is simply _gone_ , as if something with great strength has ripped their face off, revealing a jaw-like protrusion of iron pipes. Their eyes glow bright, bright red, redder than anything you’ve ever seen - the telltale signs of a logic virus infection.

Desperately, as the machine approaches you, you begin to sing.

“A m-mechanical heart,” you choke out, “and a button eye, you are…”

The machine growls at you, then lunges at you, and you close your eyes instinctively.

There’s a heavy **THUNK** of metal slamming against metal, and you open your eyes again only to see Little Sister Machine has shoved the machine to the ground. The machine twitches as it lays on the ground, but it’s quickly joined by a half-dozen others, jumping down from above. There’s screaming from the rest of the village, and the sound of explosions - fires are starting to burn.

“FRISK,” says Big Sister Machine. “GO. RUN.”

You stare at them, but there’s no time to protest, because the infected machines leap at them and bury them, and they’re screaming, and they’re _dying,_ and you’re running for your life. You’re desperate only not to die.

You could have saved them, you feel yourself think, and you feel sick.

* * *

You race out of the village as fast as your injured leg can carry you, being careful to dodge infected machines.

You don’t make it far.

The moment you’re out of the village, your black box going haywire, distortion at the edges of your vision, you find yourself surrounded. But it’s not by infected machines. It’s by androids, wearing black armor and black helmets, their eyes glowing bright red - you realize they’re infected too.

They draw their swords and you have no defense. You’ve escaped death so many times, not out of some determination to survive but by nothing less than absolute miracles, but this time, there’s no escape. Nobody is coming to save you.

Just as you’re thinking that, you see a shape in the distance, lit by the sun behind her. A woman, her hair cut short, her uniform torn to shreds, carrying a sword. Beside her floats a pod - you recognize it immediately as 2B’s pod.

She whistles at the infected androids, and they all turn to look at her.

She draws her sword from its sheath and starts swinging at the androids. You duck down on your knees, closing your eyes tightly, hoping that it will keep you from getting caught in the crossfire.

A few minutes later, there’s a _thump_ as the last infected android falls to the ground.

You dare to look up and see the mysterious woman who has rescued you three times now, covered from head to toe in oil. She’s holding out her oil-soaked hand, and you take it in yours as she lifts you up.

“Don’t ask me why,” she says, without smiling. “I don’t even know your name. You’re just some weird mute android who keeps getting their ass into trouble. But I kind of like you.”

You don’t comment on how strange you find that. You’re just grateful to be alive, to be rescued once again by what’s apparently your guardian angel.

“Name’s A2,” she says. “I’m getting you out of here. Follow me.”

You try to walk, but your leg gives out from under you. You grimace at her.

“Ugh, seriously?” A2 says. “Figures. I’ll just stay close to you.”

And she slowly walks off, away from the village, waiting patiently for you to follow behind her. You limp after her, not sure where she’s even taking you.

You don’t turn back towards the village as you limp away from it. You can’t bear to look at it.

* * *

A2 cuts through machines and androids alike, her bloodlust seemingly unable to be swayed, as she takes you to a castle. It’s beautiful, you think, but you have no time to appreciate it - your leg is about to give out.

A2 helps carry you into the castle and lays you down in what you recognize as a human library, full of books. There are no machines or androids here. You’re safe, at least for now.

You want to thank her, but you can barely breathe. You can barely think. All you can focus on is the pain in your leg, the images in your mind of corpses of machine children. You want to cry, but the tears don’t come out.

Is this the rest of your life? Running from safe place to safe place, finding communities only for them to be destroyed? Being rescued over and over by A2 until your luck finally runs out?

“Well, I’ve got shit to do,” says A2. “So I don’t have time to watch your back. Stay here and stay down. If anything comes close, just shut up, play dead, and hope they go away.”

You nod slowly and she turns around.

“Good,” she says. “Oh, and 2B wanted to say… she likes you too. Don’t ask me.”

Before she explains what that means, she jumps onto a nearby windowsill, then jumps out of sight.

* * *

As you lay on the castle floor, you have another dream.

You’re in a castle, but a different one, one you’ve never seen before. Surrounding you are monsters. So many monsters. Dozens, hundreds of them, all talking to you.

“You should be smiling, too,” they say.

“Aren't you excited?

Aren't you happy?

You're going to be free.”

And you wake up.

* * *

You don’t know how long passes in the library - a week? A month? Eventually, your leg recovers, to the point where you can’t really walk but you can at least stand again.

Someone comes and it isn’t A2. You’re afraid it’s an infected machine or android, so you consider hiding or playing dead, but you know it’d be pointless. If they’re going to kill you, there’s very little you can do to get away from them or defend yourself. You can’t Spare people like in your dreams either - you should have known that was naive.

When they finally approach you, as you merely stand there and watch them approach, you see that it’s 9S. He looks… different. It’s not his appearance, but his body language - he looks tightly-wound, his shoulders hunched and a furious energy radiating off of him.

“Huh,” he says. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

You shake your head. You weren’t expecting to see him either. You want to ask “Where’s 2B?” but… you think you already know the answer.

“So what is it?” he snaps. “What mystical quest do you have for me?”

You… don’t have one, but you don’t know how to say that to him. His anger is unlike anything you’ve ever seen - you wonder if he’s been infected too, and if he’s going to kill you if you say the wrong thing.

You cough. You make up the first thing that comes to mind, hoarsely saying “Data.”

“Data?” he repeats.

“On all the machines. I’ll reward you.”

9S sneers. “Whatever. If it helps me kill A2, I’ll do it.”

Your eyes widen, startled. “A2?”

Instantly, 9S charges at you, holding a sword to your neck. You can’t raise your hands defensively - you just stay frozen in place, sure that you’re going to die, and that this time, A2 _definitely_ won’t save you.

“You know A2?! Where is she?! Tell me! Tell me right now!”

“I… don’t know,” you say quickly. “I don’t know.”

“Suggestion,” says his Pod. “Harming non-hostile androids will not help Unit 9S to accomplish his objectives.”

9S either listens to his pod or believes you, because he relaxes, lowering his sword.

Your throat hurts so much, but you choke out, “Please don’t kill her.”

“Shut up,” he snaps. “Shut up. What would you understand? She killed 2B. She _killed her,_ right in front of me. Do you… do you even know what it’s like, to lose someone you… you...”

You open your mouth to speak again, and 9S raises his sword threateningly. “Don’t say another word.”

You close your mouth.

“Good. I’ll get you your data. Don’t go anywhere.”

You nod, and 9S runs away, followed closely by his pod.

You consider running as soon as he disappears from sight. But, if you did that, he’d just track you down somehow, so what’s the point?

What’s the point to anything anymore? Pascal’s village, your paradise, is destroyed. The Resistance has likely been destroyed by now, by infected androids and machines. A month ago or so, you saw an explosion in the sky from where the Bunker was, which at the time, you hadn’t concerned yourself with - but it didn’t matter, because you were dead to YoRHa anyway.

Maybe it’d be better if you killed yourself. Before someone else kills you.

* * *

You wait weeks for 9S to return. Sometime during that wait, you have another dream.

You’re standing in front of a huge barrier, which fills the entire room you’re in, letting out a low hum. In front of you are six containers containing six floating hearts, like the one you’ve seen so many times while sparing monsters in your dreams.

Also in front of you is another huge monster, even taller and grander-looking than Knight Knight. He is dressed in magnificent armor, and is wearing a crown on his head, a trident in one hand.

“Human,” he says, in a deep, rumbling voice. “It was nice to meet you. Goodbye.”

He rushes forward and throws his trident through your “MERCY” button, which shatters like glass.

“Asgore attacks!” says the voice in your head.

Immediately, not caring about how you no longer have the power to spare him, you move to the “ACT” command. You see the option to “Talk” and select it.

In a quiet voice, you say “I don’t want to fight. Please.”

Asgore’s hands tremble.

But he attacks, swinging his trident back and forth several times. You barely have time to react, to dodge - the trident swings through the heart representing you and you feel a sharp pain through your midsection. You grasp at the wound, feeling blood - blood, not oil - leak through your hands.

You select “Talk” again.

You say, again, “I don’t want to fight.”

Asgore’s breathing hitches for just a second.

But he attacks, swinging his hand out. Dozens of fireballs descend from the top of the box, engulfing the heart - you feel the searing pain of your flesh burning for just a moment before the heart shatters, breaking into pieces, and then the pain is gone.

You hear a voice. For some reason, you expect it to be Asgore’s voice. But it isn’t. It’s a child’s voice.

“Frisk,” the child says.

“Who are you?” you say, in your own voice.

“I’m just you, and you’re just me,” says the child. You see an image in front of you - a dark-skinned child in a blue and purple striped sweater, making hand motions. Their mouth doesn’t move, but you can hear them anyway. “Don’t give up. Stay determined.”

“I will,” you say. “As long as you are too.”

The dark-skinned child smiles the tiniest amount. “I will be.”

And you wake up.

* * *

“Here,” says 9S, when he finally returns. He connects to your systems and you feel the process of thousands of terabytes of information being transferred to you. It must have taken forever to collect. “Take it.”

You give him everything you have, but all you have is a stick you found on the ground.

“This is a weapon?” he says skeptically, looking it over. It isn’t, really, but if that’s what he wants to use it as… “Whatever.”

He turns to leave, and you say, again, “Please don’t kill A2.”

He stops moving. “You really care about her, huh?”

You nod.

“Then you should understand why I have to kill her.”

You can’t say anything in response to that. You only watch him as he walks away.

You wonder if you’ll ever see him again.

* * *

Somewhere else, A2’s sword clashes with 9S’s, sparks flying off their blades as their swords collide with each other. 9S swings his sword savagely, like a wild animal, making up for his lack of combat training only in sheer brutality. But, even still, A2 finds no opening to strike back.

As their swords clash against each other, she shoves him off herself and he loses his footing, falling to one knee. Almost pathetically, as she lifts her sword to finally finish him off, he moves to block her sword with his arm.

And A2 freezes. She hesitates, one thought coming to her mind.

_Take care… of 9S._

“2B…” says A2 quietly, in disbelief. She can’t bring herself to kill 9S, because _2B_ still cares for him, despite everything he’s become. Because 2B is a part of her now, because 2B...

9S screams and thrusts his sword through her stomach. She has no time to react before he shoves the blade all the way through her gut, shoving her to the ground in a violent splash of oil. She barely has time, can barely focus enough through the pain, to try to bring her sword up to defend herself, to thrust it in what’s vaguely 9S’s direction - he simply continues shoving himself down onto the sword as it pierces straight through his stomach and out his back.

A2 lets go of the sword and she hears 9S cry out in agony, writhing along the ground, dragging himself through the oil puddling around him. She imagines, as she lays in the oil, 9S trying desperately to take her sword out of his gut.

She’s dying, she realizes. She’s going to die in mere minutes, in mere seconds, and 9S has killed her. But at least she got him too. 2B would hate her for it, but she can be satisfied about that.

As she dies, she thinks… of that weird mute android she had saved so many times. Why on Earth had she been so fond of them? What had led her to keep track of them, to follow their movements, to risk her life to save them?

Right. Of course.

It was because she used to be just like them. She used to believe, more than anything, in the possibility of peace between androids and machines, even though it went against her directives, her core programming. She had spent hours talking to her squadmates about how she hated fighting, hated killing, hated the death of her friends and loved ones more than anything else.

She’d never have admitted it to their face, but she admired that about them - their commitment to pacifism, their obvious discomfort when she killed machines, and most of all, the simple question: “Why do you kill them?”

The same question she had asked herself once so long ago. Why did she kill them? What was her purpose for this slaughter, this massacre, of machines?

Before she’d lost herself, before she thought she’d found her answer, she’d once believed that it was all… unnecessary.

And now, all the death, all the murder, all the violence, it had all led to this. It had all been for _nothing._ She had been right.

Ha. To believe this weird mute android would still be in her thoughts even as she died. She just couldn’t get rid of them.

Well, there was one way.

At last, she closed her eyes and waited for death to take her.

But, in her final thoughts, she wondered:

Was that android still safe?

* * *

You are in your new home in the castle kingdom, a few days later, when you hear a huge explosion, a rumble like an earthquake. Almost by instinct, you limp outside to see what has happened - and see, for the first time, a huge tower that stretches beyond sight.

It’s falling apart, collapsing at the seams. Pieces of it slough off, falling from the sky.

Somehow, you feel a very ominous feeling.

You rush back inside the castle library.

* * *

You don’t see 9S again.

You don’t see A2 either.

After a couple of months of this, you realize… you must be the only YoRHa member left alive. You don’t know how you’re so sure of it, but you feel that more than anything. Between the logic virus and now 9S and A2, they must all have killed each other or died off. Even if there are others, they don’t ever come here, to this castle.

It’s almost ironic. The one member of YoRHa that wanted, more than anything, for androids and machines to have peace… the exact opposite of what your human masters always desired… was the one who survived. It’s almost enough to make you laugh.

You contemplate your life. If you truly are the only YorHa member left, what do you do now? Do you just remain in this library forever, until you’re no longer able to repair yourself? Or do you kill yourself first, before it becomes too painful to live? It’d be an act of mercy, you think.

You remember, though, the child that you saw in your dream.

_“Don’t give up. Stay determined.”_

Maybe it was fate, you think, smiling.

It seems strange, to live, based on nothing more than a dream. But… you must have lived this long for a reason.

Eventually, one day, you’ll figure out what that reason was.

* * *

The human child is not dreaming.

There’s a flower in front of them. It’s bending its head down towards the ground, it’s petals pockmarked with various wounds and cuts. It remains perfectly still.

The human child sees two options in front of them. “FIGHT” and “MERCY.” The “MERCY” button is literally pulled together from scraps, looking as if it could fall apart again at any given moment.

For a moment, they consider everything this flower has done. Every bit of suffering they’ve endured at the flower's petals, every amount of pain and death the flower has caused. Their cursor hovers over “FIGHT.”

But then they remember something. Visions they saw, of a strange world, a world of machines that look like monsters and machines that look like humans. A world of war. A world where all the violence, all the slaughter, had only one outcome - death.

And they remember… the person they had seen. The other them, the other “Frisk,” taller and paler but no less like them.

And they remember the conversation they had with them.

_“Don’t give up. Stay determined.”_

_“I will. As long as you are too.”_

They choose “MERCY.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to my friend [Kira](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KiraYoshikage) for betaing this fic for me!


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